into the darkness

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUtD_FoJcks]

A handful of years had passed since the first modern expedition into Ilburg's depths. What had been found down within these winding tunnels had become a great and widespread rumor, a whispered tale that had changed the course of the desert city forever.

Passing through what was a chamber filled with hieroglyphs, the newcomers would be faced with a series of paintings and carvings that depicted some great warrior fighting countless enemies. There was plenty to see and plenty to study, but none had the time to do so.

Ahead within this room were two massive stone doors that had been thrown open. Upon each side a message written in what could only be dried blood was divided do to the gap, but could still be read-

"Those who seek to conquer these depths,
 Must know this path and all its steps,
 Were sealed with purpose, blood, and mind.
Time within was closed to bind.
But if this age is meant to be,
An age where darkness be set free,
Then undo this magic, break this spell,
And prepare yourself with this chant from Hel..."

Further down even still, Penelope would lead both her loyal Rhoynish as well as High Lady Asta's personal guard into what appeared to be an underground crater filled with bent, charred metal. At the edge of this explosion point was nothing less than a pit, a crumbled mass of earth that fell away into utter darkness.

A binding, wispy web of mana that appeared more like a tattered, ripped bedsheet seemed to hold itself blanketed across this opening, thin threads of it slowly ascending off of it and disappearing; the deteriorating seal left behind by a noble spirit of old...
[Narrate]

Looking for this?

To descend into the dark, into the void itself upon which the spirits of the old could travel; what seemed like the bottomless pit, or perhaps, the very gate to Hel itself if they dared to observe closer.. and yet..

It can't be helped that he feels the wonder of this place..
Each time that he passed through her.

The carvings, the glyphs, the visage of the past - it all showed the promise of glory, of something greater within their life; a deeper meaning to it all that the Rhoynish have possessed. Truthfully, had the history turned out better, then perhaps they would not have to rediscover themselves again.

But.. now?

"...May the ancestors watch over us."

Was it a prayer? Basil is normally not a person to look up to ancestors all too much, or divinity of any sort.. but as much as such belief has long solidified within his mind..

It couldn't be helped. Not when he walks into a place like this.

"On your go." A brief remark to Pariah- previously Penelope. It was their duty, after all.

And he did not plan to neglect it.
(Basil)

Hearing all of the determined voices echo off of the walls, the final threads of the spirit's essence that bound the seal gave way. Like a spider web blown away in the wind, it vanished without ceremony, without sound. The silence that followed might have been deafening, but it didn't last more than a handful of seconds.

A chorus of howls carried through the air from down below, from what sounded like miles of open space. One flare of ethereal blue light ignited in the distance, followed by another, and another-

until those gazing down from the precipice could see among the phantom light something resembling an entire city, these points of illumination nothing less than a series of watch towers that brought the underground to life. Shapes began to shift and move, swirling about in front of the beacons' lights.

The legion of the damned that had claimed these depths for their own had felt that seal lifted, and finally it was time to move. The edge of the cliff crumbled some, but not in a threatening way. It revealed an incline that could be used to descend further now, one that lead toward the darkened exterior,

of the true Ilburg.
[Narrate]

"Be ready for whatever lies beneath."

"We may not be able to return until we're done with it."

A warning, but one that he's more than certain others could adhere to; whereas his gaze darts across the figures and lights appearing, he can't help but narrow his gaze, somewhat fascinated and yet all too anxious to step forward. As much as he knows it is his spiritual duty, as much as he knows that he would not abandon it..

There are times in which even he could feel..
Uneasy.

But it could not be amounted to fear; what follows instead is a brief inhale, and with his steeled mindset, he pushed forward on along with the rest- there are times in which they could afford to wait.

That is not one of such times.
(Basil)

Down the incline the small force went, each step bringing them further into the shadows of the earth and nearer the forgotten city that had been entombed within. The howling continued, shrieks echoing forth from the haunted and abandoned place.

Once closer to the actual structures themselves, all could make out what was the entrance to this place; an ornate archway that appeared just as much a make of architecture as it did a natural formation of the cavern's structure itself.

Marked into either side flanking the open road were two statues that stood taller than any present, stone giants that at first might have just been thought of as ornate decoration, only to quickly be revealed as something more. Their eyes flashed red, and moving forward with the grating noise of stone rubbing against stone, they stepped from their pedestals to bar the way.

A hiss came from all sides, a voice filled with malice, yet touched with a familiar kind of accent...

"Come to claim your home, Dayndros..." it said, the comment clearly toward Penelope. The air near Asta chilled as well as a cold breeze swept through the entire group in the direction of the High Lady.  "And you've brought guests? Spirits wrapped within a body of flesh--?" it paused. "No. No no. This is something more." The presence shifted to Flotsam. "Something new..."

The cold left and echoed overhead.

"I'll make ready for the celebratory -HOMECOMING-. That is, if you might survive long enough to reach it..."

The statues shifted again, still blocking the way, but a far louder, thunderous cry of the damned pierced the air, silencing the rest of the swirling horde's distant calls. What sounded like a rushing river in the distance hinted at a large movement, but from where the group was standing, they were left only to wonder what it meant.
[Narrate]

The archway that could lead them further.

An endeavour in which his eyes kept constantly darting about, as if seeking for something else, but.. where his eyes settle upon the guardians present up ahead, his gaze is quick to furrow at that. There's something off about this.. something about their presence which felt wrong, but..

The moment that their eyes lit up with red? He could already feel that this presence was indeed true.

Before them stood two guardians, what he'd perceive as two corrupted beings that were a promise of danger and bloodshed to be had; in such manner, his gaze only narrowed upon them, and the cosmic stardust already began to gather around his frame..

Enough to charge him whole.
Going as far as even overdo it.

Because he knew that nothing less than that would be working for this; and yet, as much as they remark of being given anything, or being brought anything..

"--No point talking to them."

"Relieve them of their duty."
(Basil)

Possessed Guardian has been defeated by Cayden Arborea! They're unable to continue fighting.

Corrupt Guardian has been defeated by Basil! They're unable to continue fighting.

[Fell free to RP your victories]
[Narrate]

There's only so much that can be done with this.

For as much as he tries to dodge and weave around the shots of the monstrosity, there's only so much that he could truly avoid- simply because of the fact how utterly swarmed it becomes. After all, with everyone on about in what seems like a mess of a fight..

Is there truly that much space to go?

But such thoughts remain nigh irrelevant, if only because he's focused as much as possible on taking down the guardian before them- a monstrosity of the stone, no doubt overtaken by the forces of the dark; for while the rest get the chance to wear it down..

A strike from it sends Basil backwards.
Practically keeping the Rhoynish on the ropes.

Yet, he's one to deliver the final blow too; a call to the star of his own, Alph, the Star of Judgment, to make sure that such blow could be delivered - the purifying light, the endeavour in which the cosmic mana drives through his circuits, as if fire through his veins..

"Help me out a bit.."
"Will you..?"

It isn't often that it answers so directly, save for the most dire circumstances- but this could be viewed as one; here, where he laid injured and thrown to the side, the current of flame is generated across the frame of the guardian, the flickering stardust permeating through the body of the Rhoynish, and..

A blast.

It's enough to tear off a good chunk out of the guardian, if only to leave it to the rest to tear it apart - for it could not function well anymore.

"...We did it."

But they're far from being done, aren't they?
(Basil)

Breaking through the preliminary defenses of Ilburg proved no easy task, and what greeted the injured group was now the descending entrance into the greater ruins. There first steps found their boots sinking into some white substance that might have been mistaken for snow if it was not so soon to be recognized as piles and piles of ash.

What had been a haunted and eerily threatening place in the distance had become terribly quiet and still. The shadows that had flown overhead were nowhere to be seen, the wraiths apparently now hiding, or waiting, somewhere else...

The city was theirs to explore, but Pariah might know exactly where they should head.
[Narrate]

There are times at which he could feel the permeating presence become far too foul.

But contrary to the expected reaction, perhaps, this quiet only alarmed the Rhoynish more; clutching the weaponry close, the stardust continued to swirl and gather around his form, enough to prove itself to be an established light source. But.. when he sees the piles of ash?

There's only a frown on his face.

"The place of long dead."

"I do wonder how much time passed since this place has been buried entirely." Or perhaps, there's even more to it, but..

As curious as he gets, he follows suit after Pariah; he does not risk wandering off,
(Basil)

Through the city Pariah lead them, the place far more civilized and structured than any might have expected. Homes connected to one another via the hardened rock and earth that they were carved out of, and far more decorative buildings that clearly honored the primordial the Rhoynish here prayed to marked the way.

But none were more ellegant and fanciful as the Cathedral the Dayndros spoke of.

It couldn't be missed; a dome that rose out of the ground suppored by columned rows that rose higher than most of the rooftops. The only things nearby that rivaled its height were the watchtowers, still flickering with their spectral blue glow that lit up the streets.

In front of the building another massive statue stood, though fortunately this one didn't come to life.

It was the statue of a humanoid form, but one with bulging muscles and a frame and height that far surpassed the physical attributes of a human. Lifted high in his right hand was a double sided axe, one that was raised as if the artwork might bring it down to split the very foundation of Ilburg in two.

Steps rose behind it leading inward to what could only be assumed was the Cathedral of Njorun.
[Narrate]

"Woah.."

There's a wonder, and awe that follows with exploration of such thing. Perhaps, it's much like he's been told in the past.. that he should learn how to speak better, how to behave better - and become something more within his life than a mere bandit or mercenary that he once was.

'I figure that Rhoynish had something more.. something great..'

The words lingering upon his mind, but.. the more that he observed? This fascination and wonder was steadily fading away- instead, slowly replaced by emotion entirely different.

Pensiveness.

Sadness, and quiet frustration. How much did they lose? How much their culture was bastardized, ruptured by the passage of time, by the intervention of those that had no claim to such a thing in the first place?

By Caleb Pelleaux.. but has their unjustified involvement started only then, or do the roots dig deeper? And what of the tales of the old that promise the glory of First Light, the conquest of Rhoynur?

The Lightbringers were not heroes.
But war criminals.

"...How much did we lose?"

A quiet mutter, but.. as much as his lips curl and the heart-strings tug upon him the wrong way, to witness the fall of all that they had, now reduced to ash and the relics of the age long lost.. his gaze turns towards the statue instead.

What normally could not be expected of Basil..

He gives a respectful bow.

A brief one, but it's there nonetheless- for now, he knows that their mission continues. He knows that there's much else to be done.. and instead, his gaze trails to the revealed opening.

"We should keep moving.."

Because it hurts to stay here.
(Basil)

The Cathedral doors were not locked, they weren't barred or trapped. They open without difficulty, inviting the explorers inside. There within what had been called a place of worship was not rows of pews or a chapel or an altar. Instead what they were all greeted with was a large and spacious chamber filled with a sand pit marked with 4 pillars-

a training ground for sparring.

Once within, the doors closed again, a loud thump echoing from behind the twelve who had ventured inside resounding in the air.

It was dark in here, and just as abandoned as the outside streets, and while there were no doors or hallways that lead elsewhere, at the far end of the room was an archway carved into the wall, upon it words inscribed in some ancient dialect-

"The road of blood,
Is not won walked,
With spell and staff in hand.
The path that lead,
to Victory's head,
Is claimed by hand,
By foot,
By man.
Magi and Soldier, equal in all,
Brothers, sisters, and warriors,
Abiding the call."
[Narrate]

The moment that they walk into the cathedral, the stardust is quick to emerge around his frame, its light carefully permeating around his surroundings to ensure that he would not remain entirely blind to just about everything- for while he observes everything around him, his gaze eventually settles at what's ahead of them.

A sparring ground, no doubt. For training, in cathedral?

But.. it makes sense, doesn't it? For as much as Rhoynish remain civilized within history - they were also the kind of warriors, to ensure that they would be able to persevere in the battles against the dark.

As they're meant to be.

While he reads it, however.. he idly hums, his gaze carefully reading the inscription, if only to speak out.

"It seems so too."

"Although.. I don't think it asks us to strip off our weapons only. It says magi and soldier equal.. and that's exactly what separates them - magic."

"Weaponry alone is disadvantage, but.." But the magic would never make them equal.

"Does it ask to give up our magic and not use it?"
(Basil)

Some debate and discussion was to be hand, but while some took actions and others considered what might need to be done...

nothing in the room changed.

Those who stepped into the sand pit nearer the pillars that stood as some sort of training targets could now see in the darkness that each one was marked with the symbol of an element-

Fire, water, air, and earth.
[Narrate]

[THE GROUP IS DOING A PUZZLE]
[I STAY AWAY TO NOT GET INJURED]

Flotsam's first punch yields no results. His watery one however? Is returned in kind. A torrent of water that may very well have hit him as hard as a gladiator's punch is thrown to his right, but the Teraphim is quick enough to step out of its direct path, only allowing it to graze him. [1 day temp]

Cayden is not so fortunate. His burst of fire triggers an explosion of some kind that throws him backward, charring his eyebrows off. [4 day temp]

Gita gust of wind boomerangs back, smashing into her front hard enough that ribs audibly crack and she's tossed to the ground. [12 day temp]

Asta's earthen bullets that bounce off of her respective post are reflected with terrible precision, a handful of them thunking into Asta's torso, and one smashing into her face, leaving a large bruise on the Teraphim's cheek. [1 day temp]
[Narrate]

Basil's torch held against the fire pillar doesn't set the thing on fire or even burn it, but instead causes another, third rumble to occur. More dust fires up from the floor near the inscription where more tiles fall away, revealing half of a staircase.

With Basten and Flotsam spitting on the water pillar, a final rumble occurs, and a set of stairs leading to an underground tunnel is revealed.
[Narrate]

In the end, Basil only rolls his eyes. Although his approach involved touch, it involved no magic at all, and to that end, he only speaks out..

Albeit with a bit of mockery.

"We tried that Basil, they said.."

"Let's fling some more magic, they decided.."

He shakes his head, and already begins pacing towards the stairs that were revealed.

"Let's go."
(Basil)

Descending down the stairs lead the group toward a room that was much smaller than the previous one. Here it was dark, and somehow even dustier than anywhere else within the underground city.

However, illuminated by the torches held aloft in the hands of the explorers, Pariah laid eyes on none other than the horn he'd been promised was down here.
[Narrate]

Leaving the Cathedral, that same cold gust of wind came through the group, the whisper from before emanating from above and below. "Well. Took you all long enough... at least the show can finally begin."

As if on some ethereal cue, a bright, blue light exploded in the distance a few blocks away. It was large enough that it's glow couldn't be ignored, reaching all the way to the incredibly high ceilings of this underground cavity and toward the far, far walls as well.

Those of spiritual attunement could sense a shift in the air, an incredibly powerful force had just let itself become known. Those from Myllenoris could sense a similar atmosphere to the Vale, and yet, something distinctly different set it apart.

The sensation was even more potent, even more concentrated...
[Narrate]

Familiar feeling.

But they would have to face off against a lot more fights of a different kind, wouldn't they? After all, it remains an endeavour in which they could not simply move past the obstacles such as these.. but truthfully, would the Rhoynish of this group have it any different?

Something about it felt.. as if it was obligatory.

Or perhaps, that's what Basil was telling himself; for while the blue light exploded in the distance and ethereal energies seeped through, he was quick to ready himself- the gathering of stardust permeating his frame becoming far too evident to ignore as well.. for while they could not use magic that much in the previous chambers..

The story was different here.

"It seems that we'll be tested differently now."

A preparation for what's to come.
(Basil)

Through the streets they marched toward that ever growing, haunting glow. The silence was still clinging to every wall, every window, every shadow that leaked forth from the alleyways of this underground Ilburg. As they came to the end of the road, however, they would see where it was all coming from; another large structure carved from the stone and earth rose upward, only it bore no dome or rooftop to cover. It did not near the ceiling like a tower, but instead spread across from side to side like a large wall, curving back toward the opposing direction.

It was a colloseum of the ancients, and whatever lied within was calling for them.

The gates had been flung open, the tunnels cleared for the expedition to pass through, and as they did so they found themselves not in a small, sand pit meant for sparring as the Cathedral had held, but instead a vast ring that stretched all across the way. The place was entirely empty, save for a single figure standing in front of a swirling torrential field of mana that collected itself in the epicenter of an archway crafted not of any natural stone seen so far, but of obsidian, marked with runes and incriptions that each glowed with that ghostly light.

"Welcome." the man said, turning to look over his shoulder at the approaching Ilburgian and Myllenorian forces. "You'll have to excuse me for not allowing everyone to see you until now. I wanted it to be a sincerely /special/ reunion.

With a wave of his hand, the colosseum seats suddenly filled with wraiths, with shadows, with phantoms of the past. Many held gold arm bands on their forearms and near their shoulders, some other bearing silver. And while they all appeared to be Rhoynish in spirit, their essence had turned black, violet, and smokey. Their eyes beat a dark red, and they stared onward with a hunger for blood that could only be known to the most primal of their race.

The man began to float, his cloak billowing around him as he moved backward toward the gate.

"My imprisonment within that temporal field left me with just SO. MUCH. to think about. And in it, only one voice gave me comfort. Only one voice kept me sane. And for my master, I'll be allowing this bloodletting to occur. For him! I will bleed you SAVAGES dry and let his brethren lay waste to your souls. Tonight, at long last, your legacy is fulfilled! You've paved the way for Vro'diark to claim Esshar for himself!!"

With a thunderous cheer, the spirits from all sides rushed inward, ready to overwhelm the twelve brave souls,

who had just walked right into Caleb Pelleux's trap.
[Narrate]

The silence, at first, was deafening.

But what came next was a lot more horrible, a lot more dangerous to walk upon.. for as much as he hoped that they would not encounter something as terrible as this - it seems that such hope was practically in vain. Instead, it was the embodiment of nightmare itself.

It was the thunderous uproar of hungering Nethradin.

But where his gaze darts all across the room, he notices the arm-bands upon such spirits- some of them even going as far as to possess the silver arm-bands too. There's a frown on his face, one that could speak of nothing but the growing, silent wrath beneath the skin of the Rhoynish.

"...You did all of this."

He remembers. He remembers the tale of the Rhoynish Lorekeeper.. the one that introduced them to all of this - he remembers the tale of Caleb Pelleaux, and the warning that his spirit is, no doubt, still lingering on the bottom levels. That no doubt, it is still there..

This is what his star prepared him for.

To bring judgment for all that has been done - and here, this purpose would be realized. The gathering of stardust began to shift, to grow far too rapid, too volatile.. to the extent of consuming him whole. Is it truly bad to do so?

To strain his own body, to twist it with sheer desire of willing to condemn this man for all that he's done?

No. It is the final resolution; they came here for it, and where the eyes come to witness the hordes of Nethradin, the dark dealings of all that the ex-noble has done.. the stardust permeates into existence through Basil - like never before.

He is the star, Alph,
the Star of Judgment.

"Caleb Pelleaux."

The judging voice bellows across the halls; the shining, one which could almost see as blinding, as overbearing.. it only threatens to collapse as a heated supernova upon the spirits ahead - for there's certainty that they would not be leaving until they're done.

"You and your forefathers have devastated the balance of this place and cursed Esshar with the existence of this dark."

"And now, you shall pay the ultimate price."

No other words are offered.

Not a single pause taken.

Instead.. the heated supernova is sent rolling forth- with intent to enact the judgment.

Right here. Right now.
(Basil)

The wraiths piled on, wave after waving coming forward to fight the twelve explorers who had entered the Great Arena of Ilburg. The more they put down in their rage, the more they ended up facing as another two or three took the fallen's place.

And above it all, the shade of Caleb Pelleux watched. He scowled, noting Pariah's movements against the Wrathful Swarm brought several dozen spirits to their defeat.

The Myllenorian forces moved as one alongside Basil to battle against the Fetid Swarm, the spirits spread diseased winds across the air, filling the battlefield with a plauge from the netherworld.

By sheer luck, Gita managed to withstand blow after blow until she was knocked off to the side, still alive, yet terribly wounded. The expeditionary force held their ground, slaying countless Nethradin, and yet the enemies were still coming.

A voice in Pariah's head reminded her of why she had come down here, what she was tasked to do, and with Caleb Pelleux's hand extended toward the portal hundreds of feet in the air, she likely only had this chance to do it.

[Cayden - 4 day temp
Asta - 12 day temp
Flotsam - 4 day temp
Regulus - 12 day temp
Basil - 1 day temp
Gita - -10 vit perm
Kofe - 12 day temp
Scarlett - -10 vit perm
Basten - -10 vit perm]

[You may exchange injuries if you'd like. Now would also be the time for if you feel you're too wounded to go on to stand off to the side.]
[Narrate]

The enemy of my enemy..
is my friend.

But never had Basil imagined himself to be fighting side by side with Teraphim; with those that he once perceived as detached from the world and unable to comprehend the problems that are right there around them.. the problems that were meant to be addressed in different ways than the ones they used.

After all, when it comes to this..

There is no such concept as finding enemy among those that fight by your side- and instead, the empowering cosmic that shines through him permeates not only to blast against the swarm that comes towards them, but to ensure that his allies do not falter too soon. It would be detrimental to their task at hand..

And that much he cannot allow to happen.

"How many of them are here?!" Swarm after swarm.. and while he fought valiantly, the disease was one to begin taking its toll too; a violent cough that followed, and yet another wraith is struck- his attempts to cover both his nose and mouth made mostly futile with how much it was spreading all around.

"I can't--"

Hold on forever. It's not possible to keep fighting like this for all of the time- and while the swarms are repelled in such manner, there's something about fighting this way that has come to cost him too much.

The injuries were wearing him down..

Yet each time that they did, the flicker of stardust pushed him forward. He had to enact the judgment upon Caleb Pelleaux - or at the very least, ensure that someone else could deliver. While the wraiths pile upon him and the rest in such overwhelming numbers, and with how he pushes through it..

He was constantly on the lookout for Caleb - if only to see his hand reaching out.

"He has to be stopped!"

A callout made, but..

It isn't his place to be stopping him; swarmed by so many, there was no way out - for lowering his guard even for a bit in attempts to reach him could very well mean becoming overwhelmed.

To the point of being torn to shreds.
(Basil)

"They're weak. USELESS... if it won't be your souls, then it will be mine-!" Pelleux bellowed out. With a flash of occultic lightning, he struck the gate, and the blue ethereal field within churned violet and dark. Whatever spectral magic made up the gate's properties reached out to claim the explorer's body for itself, his screams, while manic and pained, still sounded almost celebratory as his mortal form was dissolved into pieces and collected by the field ahead.

The glow to the arena dimmed and flickered as long, metallic digits extended out on either side of the opening, gripping the obsidian frame tight enough to leave indentations.

Pulled forth from the nether world came whatever abomination the Osronan explorer had become corrupted enough to call 'master', and with it the chorus of Hel itself arrived.

No more than a second later, however, Pariah's horn blew out, it's tune loud enough to be heard by all, halting the legions in place. The purple, putrid light that now came aglow behind the newly arrived Nethradin Lord flashed back to blue, then orange, and from the other side came a similar sound, a response to the first horn being blow...

All at once, hundreds of Rhoynish spirits broke through the breach, spectral swords and spears and axes held aloft as they charged into the hordes that had surrounded the twelve desperate fighters in the center of the colosseum. Among them, atop a ghostly horse, rode Natasa, for those who recognized her. To the others, she appeared only as an unmistakable Dayndros, one who went on to take down line after line of wraiths as she rushed her way toward Pariah.

"TAKE OUT THE BIG ONE!" she cried from the back of her steed. She grinned a wide, knowing smile and flashed it at her descendant and the others alongside her, "WE HAVE THE REST!"

[If you feel you are too injured and would not like to risk dying in the following fight, now would be the appropriate time to retreat. If at the end your vitality is below 100 BEFORE using potions/medical aid, you will be considered dead. If you roll poorly after too many downs, you will be considered dead.]
[Narrate]

Now it was the final test.

There was no more room to run, no more room to falter- and if anything, this would prove itself to be an endeavour in which he may become far too invested to retreat anymore.. and instead, it will become the ultimate rite of passage that any Rhoynish could potentially dream of. If anything..

While the wounds upon his form were beginning to become more and more staggering, to the point that he could hardly resist it anymore.. it is something that he would not mind- and instead, it is something that he takes pride in.

For he knows he's come too far to back away now.

With the charge of cavalry of the Rhoynish, however, the hints of despairing expression were soon turning into something hopeful- for he knows that by now, the tide of battle could be turned. There's a smile..

And Natasa herself? Was it truly her, matching the description of the tales, or was he hallucinating?

It didn't matter too much- instead his gaze pointed at the monstrosity, and the weapon was pulled upon once more. If they must kill it..

"The ancestors call upon us to fulfil our duty."

"We will answer with victory."

A war cry. A cacophony of violence lost amidst the voices of hundreds- and he will be one of them today.

Tonight, they will clash against the Hel itself.
(Basil)

Kofe - 4 day temp
Basten - 1 day temp
Asta - -10 vit perm
Cayden - -10 vit perm
Scarlett - -10 vit perm
Basil - -10 vit perm
Dornar - -10 vit perm
Regulus - -10 vit perm
Cymbal - -10 vit perm
Flotsam - -10 vit perm
Pariah - 4 day temp

[You may exchange injuries or accept as is. Do not heal until after all injuries have been given out and the group has done a /vit.]
[Narrate]

Didn't he know what he's coming to?

It is an endeavour in which he could imagine himself sinking in the dark of the Nethradin, the endless hordes that could become his very doom- but he certainly didn't expect to face off against the mighty creature such as this. If anything, where he faced off against the creature like this..

He didn't expect it to hurt so much.

For each time that he'd try and blast it away with the combination of flames and stardust, it seemingly didn't work; the perseverance of the creature being far too strong for him to defy easily - and as much as he fought with all that he had, it was simply not enough to push it back.

"Get off!"

A wave of the dark magic, one that intended to annihilate him on spot, no doubt, but.. even as he tried to dodge and weave around it, the particles of his hand was caught in the crossfire, in the pathof such dark wave which meant to eviscerate him away.

Instead..
He'd lose a hand for it.

There's a scream. Brief, but enough to tell that Basil got hurt, bad; for as much as he continues the fighting, disregarding the heavily bleeding wound and intending to bring down the creature as soon as possible, the glittering stardust that empowered him could only last for so long..

Until it doesn't.

It's followed by a heavy exhale. "It hurts.." A quiet mutter, but as he clutches what once was a wrist- now turned into a stump with lack of hand- there's a blaze..

One intended to sear the wound shut, so he doesn't bleed anymore.

This puts Basil away from the fighting, and while the pain from it causes him to grimace and grit his teeth, with the sweat welling up around the sides of his features, he speaks out.

"...Is it over?"
(Basil)

With the Nethradin hoard felled and all twelve explorers still standing, albeit injured, everything fell silent once again, save for the soft rhythm and hum of the spirit gate up ahead. Pieces of Vro'diark's armor fell into the dust, revealing it to have been made of nothing less than arcanium itself.

From the keystone of the gate fell a glimmering power source; a shard of celestial power itself, shining in the ashes and sand of the arena. Beside it was the last remnant of Caleb Pelleux's existence; a crimson red cloak stained with a dark inky shadow of his corruption.

The Rhoynish who had followed Natasa onto this side of the gate began to depart, one by one vanishing back to the world they belonged to. Natasa took up the final line, giving a firm nod to Pariah and her fellow comrades, but not before leaving a parting gift resting on a stone nearby.

Njorun's Gate was now theirs to decide and theirs to control, the battle over it complete.
[Narrate]

It's over at last.

Beaten and broken, the Rhoynish sees the collapse of the Dark Titan as the ultimate victory here - and the most that matters; where his gaze trails the departure of Natasa, clutching upon the missing hand.. there's a heavy exhale following that.

"It's over.."

"At last.."

But.. looking down upon his missing hand? His teeth only grit closer, a pained expression remaining upon his countenance. With the presence of the relics? As much as he walks on over..

He does not let the greed take him.
He does not grasp out.

Instead, his gaze turns towards Pariah, and he addresses her briefly.

"--I could use either the star stone, or Arcanium."

"But.. I'll leave it up to you to decide. You're the High Lady, or well.. High Lord now."

"I'll trust in your decision."
(Basil)